


Heard It From the Thirteenth Floor

by crocatta



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocatta/pseuds/crocatta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian is an up and coming musician that can't stop crossing paths with Emma Swan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heard It From the Thirteenth Floor

Songwriting is hard.  
Especially hard when so much had happened that he had no clue where to hit first. Why Killian did this with his life, he had no idea. Oh wait - yes he did. It's because all he knew for sure was that he was damn good at his job. Damn the rest of them. Damn Regina, damn David, damn Emma for giving him more than enough material to put out a few dozen albums.  
Where to start? The very beginning? New Year's? When did thus barrage of plot weasel its way into his life? He leaned back in the hotel desk chair and ran a hand over his face. He could feel the melodies trying to wriggle their way out of his head, increasing in tempo and volume and pressing so hard against his brain that he could almost feel it burst.  
Killian sighed and put the pen to paper.

\---

September

The final strum echoed across the dingy bar, hanging in the air like a cloud of smoke. Cue the scattered claps - the maximum appreciation you'd get out of a place like The Rabbit Hole - and a nod from Robin at the bar. That was what Killian was used to, and though he could always dream of even a minor following, that was all he had, and he took good care to preserve it.  
He packed up his guitar and propped it up on an empty barstool while Robin poured him his usual.  
"When did you write that last one?" he asked, handing him his scotch, dry.  
Killian took a swig. "Couple nights ago."  
"The night you got drunk off your arse?"  
"Aye, that's the one."  
"I'd scold you, but you did a good job with that one."  
"Maybe I should drink more," he chuckled. "It'd sound even better if I had the other two-thirds of my band with me."  
"Jones, you're the only one of us who does this for a living. I would, but I've got a kid to support. David would, but he just doesn't want to."  
"Ah, just let me be bitter. It makes for a better songwriter."  
Robin didn't say anything, just raised his eyebrows sarcastically and turned his attention to the nearest customer, and Killian turned his attention to his near-empty scotch.  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone sit down in the barstool next to him - a tall guy, far too put together for a a dive like this - and wave at Robin for a couple of drinks. Killian raised an eyebrow. "I'm not drunk enough to swing your way yet, mate," he said, graciously accepting another drink.  
The man laughed and shook his head. "Not here for that this time big guy. My name's Graham Humbert." He held out his had, which Killian shook apprehensively. "I own an independent record label. You might've heard of it - Two-Eyed Dog?"  
Killian perked up. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you just sign Children of the Moon?"  
"Nothing to correct. I'm interested in signing you as well, if you're willing."  
"More than willing, if you'll take the rest of my band with me."  
"Sure, just come over to my studio - any day, really - and record a demo. If we like you, I can get al,the paperwork lined up in a matter of hours."  
"Where's your studio?"  
"204 Meadow Park. Just put it in Maps, and don't question when in takes you into a neighborhood. I turned my parents house into broadcasting hub."  
He nodded, shook Graham's hand, and told Robin the news immediately after Graham left. "This is such a lucrative opportunity, Robin," Killian raved, "You might not have to argue with your boss just to get me a gig. We could play at actual venues."  
"I've already agreed, Killian. And yes, if this works out, I can cut my hours at the bar and spend more time with my dearly beloved child."  
"That too."

\---

"This is Emma, and you're listening to Storybrooke's number one alternative station, 107.1. If any of you made it to Elsa Blake's solo show last night, you know she's not gonna be an opening act for much longer. Here she is with 'Let it Go'."  
She pressed play and leaned back into her chair, exhaustion creeping over her, when Graham snuck in the booth, scaring her half to death when he poked her in the side. Emma removed her headset and punched him in the shoulder as he giggled. "Don't do that," she whisper-yelled, "You vegan piece of shit."  
"Hey, me being vegan has nothing to do with me being a piece of shit."  
Emma laughed and checked her watch. 1:07 in the morning. God, she hated the late shift. "How'd the talent scouting go?"  
"Very successfully. There's guy I found playing at some dump on the outskirts of town. I stayed for his entire set, start to finish. Gave him the offer and the information, and he's stopping by with his band sometime this week."  
"What's his name?"  
Graham thought for a moment, and then groaned. "I forgot to ask his name."  
"Oh, for the love of god."  
"I'm new at this, okay? Tell you what, I'll cover your shift tomorrow if you go find out who he is. And who his band is. And when they're coming."  
"Do it your damn self."  
"But it smells weird there, Emma. Like depression, sweat, and a midlife crisis all rolled up into a joint and left on the side of the road."  
"You know what? Fine. But only because you're letting me live at your house."  
"That I am, Emma. That I am."  
She rolled her eyes and put her headset back on, letting the queue roll on as she drifted blissfully into unconsciousness.

\---

The next night, she went to The Rabbit Hole. Graham, turns out, was right about the smell. To add on to that, it was cramped, and dusty, and kind of sticky, but it was nothing she couldn't put aside once the entertainment arrived. He was good, and he was hot, and he was really damn good. His guitar work was superb - there was no way he hadn't been classically trained. And his voice was solid and steady and honest. And he was hot. Graham was right to go ahead and make him the offer. Good sound plus good looks equals a marketing dream.  
She turned to the bartender, a larger, more imposing, oilier kind of guy and asked for the musician's name.  
"Killian Jones," he answered, "He's buddies with one of the other bartenders that the boss likes, so she let's him play on weekends. But I," he leaned forward, "Am more interested in your name."  
God, she could smell his breath. "Can I get a rum and coke?" she asked politely.  
Emma stayed for the rest of Killian's set and found herself completely entranced. The more she listened, the more she noticed, and she definitely noticed that all of the songs he wrote about a woman were in the past tense. Not that it mattered, anyway. Not to her.

\---

Since it was Sherman bertending tonight, Killian had planned on going back to his flat and spending the night, er, writing - that is, until he saw the blonde sitting alone at the bar, watching him intently.  
He approached here without qualm. "What brings you here tonight, love? Anywhere else, I wouldn't have to ask, but look around and you'll notice that we rarely get a woman of your caliber within a mile of this shithole."  
She smirked, revealing deep, adorable dimples. "Strictly business. I work with Graham Humbert."  
"Ah, so he sent you here to make sure that I show up. Clever man. Tell him that he has no need to worry, because now my presence is set in stone." He leaned in to the conversation.  
"So what day should we expect you?" She didn't shy away.  
"Monday morning, but I'd be quite willing to stay the night."  
"I don't think my boyfriend would quite approve."  
"But would you?"  
She rolled her eyes. "I'll tell Graham that you'll be there Monday morning."  
"I'm there if you are, darling."  
"Don't call me 'darling'."  
"Pray, love, what should I call you, then?"  
"Call me Emma," she said, smirk plastered on her face as she exited the bar to the yellow bug parked on the street.  
Emma. Yeah, he'd see her Monday.

\---

"Graham?" she said into the phone.  
"Yep?"  
"His name is Killian Jones, he's coming on Monday, and have fun with my shift tonight."  
"Nice work, Em."  
"Not so fast, buck-o. I've got a bone to pick with you. You didn't just send me because it smelled, did you?"  
"So perceptive. He seemed like your type."  
"Graham, I have a boyfriend."  
"Yeah, a skeezy one that you never see and cheats on you all the time."  
"You don't know that."  
"I can be perceptive, too. Emma, when Ruby left to go on tour and you couldn't pay your rent, did he even offer to let you stay at his place? Because the last time I checked, it's been three weeks and you're still living with me."  
"He lives in the city," she hesitated, "It wasn't practical."  
"Alright, Em," he resigned. "You know you can't stay forever, right? Once Phil and Aurora get back...I know Anna is looking for a roommate while her boyfriend is studying in Norway."  
"I'll ask about it the next time I see her, I promise. See you at the house."  
"See you."  
She hung up.  
Okay, she knew how bad her relationship looked from the outside, but Walsh was reliable and safe, as far as she cared. He showed up for most of their dates and called when he couldn't, and he didn't ask too many questions. It was convenient and mindless and just what she needed.  
Or what she though she did, anyway.


End file.
